


Tattoos and Threats

by pumpkindragon



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23733760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkindragon/pseuds/pumpkindragon
Summary: Ichimaru gets a tattoo at Aizen’s behest. He does not like what is chosen.
Relationships: Aizen Sousuke/Ichimaru Gin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Goes with my Rain of Blood work. May be expanded later. Some sexual comments in chapter two.

“Ichi-chan, if you don’t stop, he won’t be able to finish.” 

“Don’t call me that. And I don’t like it.” I smirk at your body, laying on the table nude. The poor tattoo artist is laboring on, despite your killing intent making the air heavy. The first orchid is blooming over your hip. 

“Just focus on the pain, Ichimaru. You’ll like it.” You consider that, and you tone down the killing intent a little. 

”Still don’t like it. It’s girly.” I bite me lip, considering. The tattoo artist knows who we are, but you are making this harder than it needs to be. I suppose I can kill him, later. I run my hand through your hair, then grip it tight. Your killing intent lessens more. 

“Good boy, Ichimaru. Now let the man finish in peace.” The tattoo artist is laboring over your hip, not paying attention to us at all. Maybe I won’t have to kill him after all. 

You slit open your eyes a little, a glint of ruby red shining in the bright lights of the tattoo parlor. You finally seal away all of your displeasure, and the tattoo artist visibly relaxes. 

“This is going to cost you, Aizen.” Your voice is flat with displeasure, and I know you mean it. It probably will, but to have my marks permanently on your skin was a pleasure I could not pass up. 

”Watch your mouth, Ichimaru.” I remind you, tightening my grip a little more. Forgetting the honorific is a mild behavior, but I must always keep you under control. Your tantrum over the orchid tattoo is going to be magnificent, all the better to savor.


	2. Tantrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gin has a tantrum over the tattoo.

When the tattoo artist began moving his needles over your hip bone, you began to scream. It wasn’t all at once, of course, but short bursts of sound as they needles moved over the bone. I had to tighten my hand in your hair to keep you still, but that did not stop me from savoring the sounds and drinking in the sight of your face. 

Once the session was done, you got dressed, grousing to yourself under your breath. The man I paid well and he gave me salve for the tattoo. You didn’t wait for me, disappearing out the door before I could even thank the man. I let you be, wondering what form your tantrum was going to take. 

Three days later, I have my answer. You've taken a leave of absence, pleading illness. At first, it pleases me to think you cannot sit still with your new tattoo. But three days later, I have become irritable, for you haven’t shown yourself at the office or come to my apartment. 

finishing my work for the day, I rise from my desk. It is time to end this tantrum. I head into the city, seeking out your apartment. The balcony in front of your apartment is overflowing with flowers. If only people knew your hobbies, Gin, they might not be so afraid. Then again, half the flowers are poisonous to some degree, so perhaps not. The foxglove shifts in a stray breeze and I briefly consider making you eat it. But a heart attack would be hard to explain, I suppose. 

I go into the apartment, using the key I had made. I find you sitting in the living room, on the couch, a bowl of cut fruit in front of you. You glance my way and then eat a piece, ignoring me once more. My rage flares deep inside my chest and I stride over, yanking you to your feet by your hair. 

“It is polite to say thank you when given a gift, Gin.” 

“Well, I don’ like it. “ You respond and I savor the sound of your voice before slapping you hard right over the tattoo. You scream for me, but the sound is half outrage and half pain. 

“Strip.” 

“No.” 

I arch my eyebrows at you and grab your hip. I squeeze a little at first, then increase the pressure. You make a mewing sound of pain. 

“Have you put the salve on?” 

“No.” 

“Then strip. I will not have you ruin it out of stubbornness.” 

You slit open those ruby eyes, but another squeeze on your hip convinces you I am serious. You finally step back and shuck off your clothes, standing naked before me. The tattoo stands out against your pale skin, but it is starting to peel. I open the jar of salve with one hand and push you back onto the couch with the other. 

I straddle your lap as I spread the salve on. Your body responds to my nearness. You chuckle. 

”Maybe I should top this time.” You say, moving your hips upwards suggestively. I slap you for your insolence, but not too hard. 

“You take what you are given, Gin. Now be still.” I work the salve into the tattoo diligently. You don’t comment further, but relax back into the couch, making a happy sound in your throat. I wonder if I have seen the last of this tatuntrum, but decide I don’t care at the moment. This moment is for my pleasure.


End file.
